


Duplicity

by Imasupermuteant



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: yj_anon_meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasupermuteant/pseuds/Imasupermuteant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has never really minded that Dick was the one assigned to work with the other teenage heroes. But when he has to pretend to be Dick and join the team himself, he realizes that he was missing out on a lot more than he thought. </p><p>Originally written for the YJ_anon_meme, this version has been seriously revised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four o'clock on Sunday morning in downtown Gotham was one of the easiest patrol shifts available, or at least Tim thought so. The city was settling down to sleep, the sounds of sirens and screaming matches and dogs barking echoed in the darkness.  
  
All was almost quiet and marginally peaceful in the most crime ridden city on the east coast. The crooks and the drug dealers lay sound asleep in their beds, dreaming of the sorts of things that would make Tim kick them in the face.  
  
Tim crouched on the roof of one grimy, gargoyled building, keeping his gaze fixated on the windows of the equally depressing building across the way. His bright red and green uniform was hidden under a long black cloak and his eyes were covered by a thick-lensed  domino mask.  A thermos of hot chocolate (now quite cold) rested on the roof beside him along with a pair of binoculars and half a protein bar. It had been a long night.  
  
‘Robin Red to Robin Green.  Come in."  
  
Static cracked across the line for a moment before Tim reached up to tap the comm and give his reply. Tim frowned, why was Dick active at this time of the morning anyway?  He was supposed to be spending weekends with his team, which meant  he should have gone straight to bed after arriving home from Happy Harbor.  
  
“Green here.” He didn’t let his gaze waver from the darkened windows. Tim had been watching all night. He wasn’t going to let himself get distracted _now_.   
  
‘Where are you?’  
  
Tim suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. There was no one there to see.  
  
“I’m watching the Maroni place. Just like I was last night. And the night before.”  
  
‘Oh. Anything good.’  
  
No. Tim didn’t say, there was nothing. No way to prove that Dan Maroni was organizing a multinational drugs-and-underage-girl enterprise from that very apartment. Not even after weeks of careful investigation and three undercover operations and four freezing nights alone, watching dark windows.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be in Rhode Island?” Tim asked instead.  
  
‘Just left, B and I are doing a spin around Old Gotham before bed. Oh! I have the _best_ stuff to tell you.’  
  
“I can‘t wait.”  Tim said, actually rolling his eyes this time despite the lack of audience.  Another Team Sidekick story was definitely not what he wanted to be hearing after a long night of surveillance.  
  
Robin Red (as Dick was called by those who knew that there was more than once Boy Wonder) has been spending a large portion of his "free" time training with the team of underage heroes that Bruce had helped to build. It had obviously had a huge impact on him. The most notable that he was simply unavailable, even on the radio. Dick talked about his team constantly when he was around.  
  
Tim couldn’t help but feel a little sad that he didn't get to spend as much time talking to Dick as he had before.  It meant that Tim spent a great deal less time talking in general, since Dick, Bruce, and Alfred were the only people he bothered to converse with in the first place. Over the past couple of years he had gotten used to Dick’s undivided attention, and it felt a little strange that it was gone. Even when they did talk, it was about Superboy's anger problems or Miss Martian's baking or Kid Flash's... Flashyness.  
  
Tim mostly talked about stakeouts. And mobsters.  
  
Speaking of which.  There was a light on in Maroni’s penthouse, and the shape of stocky male bodies could be seen in silhouette.  Tim reached for his binoculars.  
  
‘Incoming.’ Bruce voice came across the comms for the first time that night.  
  
‘It’s Ivy. What‘s she doing at the art museum?’  Tim could here the barely restrained joy in Dick’s voice.  It was part of the reason for why Dick accompanied Bruce on patrol seventy percent of the time, while Tim spent weeks at a time watching drug deals and stalking killers on the internet.   
  
“New bonsai exhibit.” Tim said, “The prize of the collection is nearly four hundred years old.”  
  
‘How do you even know that?’ Dick demanded. His voice was strained. Probably fighting, then.  
  
“I watch the news.“ Actually, Tim had been planning to ask Alfred if he and Dick could visit the exhibit.  
  
‘Focus.’ Bruce growled at the two of them, and Tim found himself stiffly turning his attention back to the mobsters hideout.  There were at least four grown men in the building, one of whom fit the description of Greenie Lumper, who was wanted in at least three states for various criminal acts.  
  
The silence stretched for long minutes as Tim carefully read lips and didn’t think about Dick and Bruce fighting a super-villain on the other side of the city.  
  
There was definitely something going down in mobland.  Someone in the room was talking about some kind of shipment, and if Tim could just pin down some details he would finally have something substantial. He already had the case file ready and waiting to be sent to the GPD, just as soon as it was enough to ensure a conviction.  
  
If there was one thing that Tim was good at, it was being thorough.  
  
People and lips moved in the other building and Tim wrote down what he saw.  A shipment (drugs or people, maybe both?), something big happening, maybe something tonight? The men gathered in the room were no doubt very powerful and very, very bad.  
  
A few more minutes, a little more information, and Tim could justifiably bust in there and nab every single one of them.   
  
The comm sparked to life again, unexpectedly.  
  
‘Pull back. Now.’   
  
“I’m close to something. Just ten more minutes.” Tim protested.  
  
‘Robin Red is down. Pull back.’  
  
Tim felt the cold ice of worry warring with that small, logistical part of himself that wanted to point out that Dick getting injured had nothing to do with his operation.  
  
He looked back, one more time, at the building and the one lit window and let the case go.   
  
Dick, Tim reminded himself as he lowered himself to street level and ran the four blocks to his concealed motorcycle, was family. And family was more important than any number of cases.  Even if those cases were high-profile human-trafficking rings.  
  
If he ground his teeth any harder Tim was sure he’d hear them crack.  
  
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Dick. Tim had, when he was eight years old and unreasonably intelligent and very, very lonely, thought that he was in love with Dick. He still did, sometimes. But the love had faded from frankly unhealthy obsession into brotherly affection. And with that brotherly affection came brotherly irritation.  
  
Tim might love Dick dearly, but his pseudo-brother had just cost him a conviction and he wanted nothing more than to punch him in the eye.   
  
Arriving at the manor just a few short minutes later, Tim realized that someone had beaten him to it.  
  
Dick was sitting on an exam table in the cave when Tim pulled in, pulling faces while Alfred dabbed witch hazel on a rather impressive black eye.  
  
“Hey, baby bird!” Dick called at him with a grin, “how’s it going?”  
  
Tim didn’t say “it’s going like you _ruined my op_ , asshole,” but it was a close call. He nodded instead, stepping close to inspect Dick’s many wounds.  
  
And boy, was Dick wounded. Tiny cuts covered every exposed piece of his skin, on of his eyes was turning the color of a pastoral sunset, and Dick was holding his arm in a way that screamed “I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve injured my rotator cuff”.  
  
“Ivy did all that?”  
  
Dick sniffed, “Well she doesn’t love me the way she loves you.”  
  
Tim rolled his eyes and handed Alfred a butterfly bandage.  Ivy couldn’t tell them apart. None of Gotham’s criminal contingent (or police department or, for that matter, the Justice League) knew that there was more than one Robin at all.  
  
“No really, what happened?”  
  
“Miss Isley saw fit to push Master Grayson off a balcony.” Alfred cut in, his tone portraying exactly how he felt about such an action.  
  
“What?” That didn’t sounds like Ivy. She was one of Tim’s favorite baddies because, in general, she wasn’t interested in causing major damage to anyone under the age of eighteen.  The last time she’d trapped Tim and Bruce in a giant venus fly-trap she had let him out and fed him cookies by hand until the neurotoxin wore off.  Of course, he had been just shy of his thirteenth birthday party at the time and looked about three years younger.   
  
“…By accident.” Dick mumbled. “And grew some kind of super-fast rose bush to catch me.  
  
Tim pointedly didn’t laugh. “Well I don’t see why I should have to leave the culminating moment of a three month investigation because you got some scratches.”  
  
“ _I_ didn’t pull you off.” Dick said, “Ask Bruce about it.”  
  
Bruce was at the cray, tapping out his mission report and stoically ignoring Tim’s withering glare. Tim let his silence speak for itself.  
  
“Isley didn’t intend to injure Dick…” Bruce began.  
  
“No.”  
  
“… But that doesn’t mean that she won’t let every other criminal in Gotham know what happened.”  
   
“So?”  
  
“I can’t have Isley taking Robin down in one corner of the city and Robin taking Maloni down in another.” Bruce’s voice was deep and powerful, final.  
  
Tim carefully reminded himself to relax his jaw.  
  
“I’ve been working on this for three months.” He said as softly as he could.  
  
“I know.” Batman growled, “You’ve done good work. The dossier we have on Maloni and his associates is thorough, I’m sure the commissioner will follow through on every lead you given him.  
  
“We wouldn’t need the commissioner to follow through on anything if I’d busted them this morning.” Tim protested.  
  
“I made the decision, Green.” Batman said.  
  
The codename snapped in Tim’s mind like a warning.  A reminder. You’re not the only Robin.  Some things are more important.  
   
There was definitely not a small part of Tim’s mind which turned “some things” into “Dick”.  
  
Tim nodded sharply, just this side of salute, and headed back to check on Dick while trying to keeping himself from screaming.  
  
Dick was already down from the table, wiggling his fingers and rocking his head from side to side in an attempt to release his tension.  
  
“So…” He began, “Now probably isn’t the best time to ask a favor.”  
  
Tim didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow and waited.  
  
“I left my cell phone at Happy Harbor.”  
  
“So?” Tim asked. Bruce would replace a phone without even noticing, even if Alfred did get the tight ‘this is poor parenting’ look on his face.  
  
“My _civilian_ phone.” Dick told him.  
  
That was a bigger problem.  The civilian phone was the one that all of their ‘friends’ from school would call. The one that had fake names and numbers for all of the important people they knew.  The civilian phone belonged to Dick Grayson, and Dick Grayson did not belong at the Justice League’s secret mountain base.  
  
“You should go get it then.” Tim said. Obviously.  
  
“Alf said I’m on enforced rest until tomorrow afternoon.” Dick groused. Tim repressed a wince at the nickname. After three years he still had trouble not calling Alfred “Mr. Pennyworth”, much less something as undignified as “Alf”.  
  
“Please?” Dick said.  
  
Tim could see where this was going.  
  
“Oh, no.”  
  
“Timmy…” Dick whined.  
  
“It’s five in the morning!”  
  
“It’s not like we have school, it’s August.”  
  
“I don’t--”  
  
Dick was frowning and carefully prodding his shoulder in so calculated a maneuver that Tim couldn’t help but feel a little bit of awe and jealousy.   
  
“Fine.”  
  
“You rock my socks, bro.” Dick said with a grin.  
  
“Oh my god, never say that again.”  
  
Tim headed for the jet, reminding himself once again to relax his jaw. At this rate, his teeth weren’t going to last through college.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

  
It was an hour long trip from Gotham to Happy Harbor via bat-built plane and Tim arrived just as dawn was truly breaking, long before any of the young heroes who lived in the mountain would be awake.  
  
Tim was only mildly surprised when the AI admitted him to the mountain by announcing Dick's designation code. The public (and the majority of the Justice League) thought there was only one Robin after all, and it made sense that Bruce would have assigned them both the designation.  It felt strange, nonetheless. Tim couldn’t help but feel a little bit like an impersonator.  
  
It was quiet in the base and Tim crept through dark hallways looking for Dick's room. He'd only ever seen Mount Justice in the form of blueprints and schematics, not necessarily the best way to find out where Dick might have left his stuff.   
  
The mountain looked a lot more comfortable and friendly than Tim would have guessed.  The Justice League technology merged seamlessly with the earthy, warm feeling of the mountain itself.  It was, however, immense.  
  
"Door," Tim subvocalized to himself as he crept around, "Door, Aqualad's room, another door..."  
  
He was lost. And desperately wishing he had taken the time to memorize the base's schematics.  
  
By the time he wandered into the kitchen Tim was starting to doubt whether or not he would really be able to find the phone at all. He debated whether or not he should just give up, leave that small indicator of Dick civilian identity until Dick himself could come retrieve it.  If Tim couldn’t find it, what was the likelihood that someone on the team would?  
  
Tim stared at the fridge, thinking about the breakfast that Alfred was no doubt preparing that very moment.  
  
"Rob?"  
  
Tim spun around, his eyes widening a little at the sight of a pajama-clad Superboy. Panic set in.  
  
"Uh. Hi. Superboy."  
  
Superboy blinked a bit in confusion, a huge hand coming up to rub at sleepy eyes. He was wearing a pair of loose pants (donated, Tim expected, by Bruce) and no shirt. He looked…  
  
…Well, the only word that Tim could come up with was chiseled.  
  
Superboy didn't seem alarmed, just incredibly sleepy, and Tim quickly realized that it was because he couldn't tell the two Robins apart. Didn't even know there were more than one.  
  
It didn’t really make Tim feel any better.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Umm... I..."  
  
It would be a reasonable mistake to make, Tim rationalized. The costume was designed to hide their differences, and Tim was only about an inch shorter than Dick anyway. The difference in size and appearance was disguised with lifts in Tim's shoes and a little padding around Tim's muscles.  Tim had always hated the additions to his costume. They were necessary, yes, but they limited his movements and made him feel off-balance at times.  
  
Meeting Superboy for the first time, he had never been more thankful for those slight adjustments.  
  
"I left my phone here when I left," Tim said, trying to mimic Dick's voice as he had been trained, "I came back so that Batman wouldn't, umm... Roast me, you know?"  
  
"Oh." Superboy stumbled over to the refrigerator and pulled out some milk, taking a long drink directly from the carton. Tim resisted the urge to make a face in disgust. Both because of the habit and because of the disgusting amount of hormones that were routinely pumped into commercial milk. Alfred had started buying the majority of their groceries from local farmers markets after Tim had refused to eat anything but gluten-free bread for a week.  
  
He reminded himself that Dick didn’t care about the potential enviornment-and-healthy-destroying contents of his food. And Dick didn’t care about sharing germs.  
  
And Superboy, Tim reminded himself, thought he was Dick.   
  
"So. Have you seen it?" He asked.  
  
There was a tiny droplet of milk on the corner of Superboy's chin. Tim was finding it hard to look away.  
  
He didn’t wonder if Superboy's skin felt as soft as it looked.  
  
"Yeah. I think it was on the couch." Superboy's head gestured in the direction of the living area.  
  
"Okay, thanks." Tim said with a smile. He shuffled his feet but didn't move from his spot. There was something missing. He didn't want the conversation to end, but what was he supposed to say?  
  
This sort of thing was not Tim's forte.  
  
The silence stretched out for miles.  
  
"So... I guess I'll just get that and head back to Gotham." Tim said finally.  
  
 "See you next weekend," Superboy said with a bleary blink and a wave.  
  
He turned, heading back to his room, and Tim watched him go.  
  
"See you next weekend." He whispered to himself, feeling suddenly very sad and alone. It had just been a conversation, and not even a very good one. Why did he feel as if he had just accomplished something monumental?  
  
Dismissing his pondering, Tim jogged over to the living area fished around until he found the phone in between the cushions of the couch, noticing the scattering of unopened snacks and video games.  
  
This was obviously a place for group bonding and relaxation. Dick probably played games here, probably spent his time on this couch with Kid Flash and Artemis and Superboy.  Tim took a seat on the couch, disliking the overly plush feeling of the cushions, and imagined himself there during the day, surrounded by all of Dick's friends.  
  
It wasn't an easy thing to imagine. He'd told Bruce that he didn't want to be a member of the youth team for a reason. He'd assumed that he wouldn't have anything to say to these kids. He was surprised that _Dick_ got along with them as well as he did.  
  
Dick had always been the more social of the two of them, though. Some leftover remnant of the circus combined with a natural affinity for people. Tim, on the other hand, had an affinity for computers and criminal profiling, and he'd never really minded that too much.  
  
But now Dick had his own friends, and his own space, and a couch on which he did real kid things.  Tim wasn’t jealous, but he was _something_. Something that felt a lot like the days when he was just a little boy with a camera. When Dick and Bruce and even Alfred were just people he pretended to know, people who didn’t know him.  
  
Tim stood, pocketed the phone, and headed for home. But first he cleaned all the crumbs off the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce seemed to have decided that the only thing that would make up for pulling Tim off the Maloni case was gratuitous amounts of family time. Which meant, of course, that the next few days would be nothing but training, followed by more training and maybe a break for an actual patrol.  
  
“I don’t see why Dick and I have to develop a fighting style together if we never actually fight together.” Tim pointed out after the second day of intense training. He was flat on his back on the mat, sweating profusely, having just been dumped on the floor because Dick had jumped right in front of him.  
  
“Hmm…” Bruce said from the console. Tim rubbed at a bruise on his shin.  
  
“I mean, the whole point of having two of us is that we don’t patrol at the same time.” Tim continued, “It would be a better use of my time for me to work on emulating Dick’s moves instead of learning to compliment them.”  
  
No one in Gotham (save for Commissioner Gordon) knew that Robin was actually a plural entity, it helped prevent them from drawing the connection back to Bruce Wayne and his young wards and it meant that Robin never seemed tired or hurt. Tim understood this. He also understood that as the second Robin, he would have to fit himself into Dick’s mold.  
  
“Don’t you love me?” Dick cried at him mockingly, Tim resisted the urge to punch him. Barely.  
  
The Batman raised an eyebrow at his two young protégées. Tim shivered.  
  
“Right.” Tim said, “We’ll just try that one again.”  
  
And they were up, flying towards the target in unison. Dick pushed himself into one of those impossible leaps that still had Tim gaping in awe, even after so long, and Tim followed behind, sliding low.  
  
It was perfect, like being a small part of the universe’s most efficient machine. It felt like magic, like art, like philosophy, like--  
  
\--like Dick had feinted left without signaling and they were crashing into each other. _Again_. And falling to the mat with matching thumps.  
  
Except, of course, that this time Dick’s _thump_ sounded more like a _crack_.  
  
Bruce was already kneeling at Dick’s side by the time Dick managed to make a noise.  
  
“Ow.”  
  
“Are you alright?” Tim rolled quickly off the mat and moved towards them. Just the sort of inane question he would only think to ask while worried out of his mind.  
  
Bruce’s eyes were focused sharply on the way Dick had screwed his eyes shut, his aborted move to grasp at his arm.  
  
“ _Ow_.  
  
“Alfred.” Bruce had his hand on his communicator and Tim could already hear feet rushing down the stairs.  
  
Things were not looking good. Dick’s eyes tightened as Alfred deftly manipulated Dick’s shoulder, declaring it far more damaged than they had initially thought. Bruce’s lips grew thinner and thinner as he watched. Tim could already hear the lecture being developed in Bruce’s immense mind.  
  
“Surely,” Alfred said as he manhandled Dick into a sling, “You should have noticed that the injury was worse than we assumed, Master Dick.”  
  
Dick snuffled.  
  
“I would hate to think that you would have considered not telling us that your shoulder was causing you pain.” Alfred continued. Deeply British disapproval leaking from every vowel.  
  
Dick looked a little bit like the world was collapsing. Tim empathized. Alfred’s lectures felt a lot like you had just killed a baby and forgotten how to tie your shoes at the same time.  
  
“I’m totally benched for the next _forever_ , aren’t I?”  
  
“Totally.” Bruce said.  
  
“Awesome. My life could not possibly get any worse right now.” Dick sighed morosely.  
  
Tim agreed silently. He’d be pulling double duty until Dick healed, and his own investigations would suffer. Nothing could suck more.  
  
And then, just under a week later, Dick came down with mono.  
  
"Also known as 'the kissing disease'." Bruce pointed out in his most disapproving voice as they stood by Dick's bedside.  
  
Dick looked miserable, his shoulder immobilized and his eyes drooping with fatigue.  
  
"It's also transmittable through casual contact like sharing drinks." Tim pointed out from behind the surgical-grade germ mask he had put on the moment he heard about Dick's diagnoses, "Some forms of mononucleosis are airborne."  
  
Dick was giving him the 'you're a freak' look but Tim only raised a single eyebrow in reply. He might be wearing a dumb looking mask, but he wasn't the one in bed for the next month.  
  
“At least this means that you were off your game for a reason.” Tim pointed out, “And not because you suddenly developed an unhealthy love of falling on your face.”  
  
“ _Shut up_.” Dick hissed.  
  
Bruce continued to frown. “Kissing disease.” He repeated.  
  
"Who would I kiss?" Dick rasped out, "I don't even like any of the girls on the team.”  
  
Tim wondered if maybe Dick liked one of the _boys_ on the team. But the idea was ridiculous. Dick would have told him if he liked… well… other dicks. Brothers told each other things like that.  
  
…Or so he had heard.  
  
"I'll contact the team and tell them you won't be coming in for a while." Bruce said.  
  
"What?" Dick would have been shouting if he weren't so obviously exhausted, "No! You can't!"  
  
The Batman cocked an eyebrow, "I can't?"  
  
"We have training. I promised we would do some basic aerial maneuvers and Wal-- everyone was so excited! And you'd have to suspend missions. Bruce."  
  
"You're not getting out of bed and the matter is closed." Bruce informed him sternly, "I'll ask Alfred to bring you some soup."  
  
"But Bruce!"  
  
"No."  
  
Dick's eyes were wide and his bottom lip trembled in a fashion that Tim was moderately sure was faked. This knowledge didn't make the expression any less effective. Tim wanted Dick to be happy, always had, and if leaving the team without a Robin for a weekend (or four) would make Dick unhappy then...  
  
"I'll go." Tim found himself saying.  
  
"What?" Dick rasped.  
  
"I can do the training."  
  
"No you can't."  
  
“Yes I can.”  
  
“No.” Dick hissed, “You _can’t_. They think there’s only one Robin. It would be different if Bruce cleared them to know but--”  
  
They looked over at Bruce.  
  
“No.”  
  
“There you go. No way.”  
  
Tim sniffed, “I can just pretend to be you. They won‘t even know the difference.”  
  
“You’d suck at pretending to be me.”  
  
Tim glared at Dick, "Way to feel the aster, dude." He mimicked, making his voice more nasal and rolling his eyes. “I pretend to be you all the time. Ivy can’t tell the difference. And neither can Commissioner Gordon, or anyone in the League.”  
  
“That’s--”  
  
“I’m just saying that if the team can’t spare you then we might as well send them the closest thing to _you_ that we can get. Which is me.”  
  
“Tim…” Dick sighed, coughing a little, “I don’t think it’s really the same as, you know, _living_ with people. They know me really, really well. And--”  
  
“Not anymore than I do.” The very idea that anyone would be closer to Dick than himself made Tim feel… uncomfortable.  
  
“I don’t know…” Dick grumbled.  
  
“It’s not like I’m going to replace you permanently.” Tim said, “I didn‘t want to join the team when it started and I don‘t really want to join the team now. Relax.”  
  
Dick frowned.  
  
Bruce was looking at them with an appraising eye. Tim knew the look. It was the look that meant Tim had won.  
  
"It would be a good undercover exercise for Green." He said finally, "I approve."  
  
Dick sighed. Tim let himself smile, no one could see it under the germ-mask after all.  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Suit up, Robin." Bruce said finally, "We're heading out in fifteen."  
  
"Don't fu- _screw_ this up, Baby Bird!" Dick shouted after him as they left, "If you ruin my life then I'm ruining yours. I know where you live!"  
  
Tim didn’t roll his eyes.  
  
They marched down to the cave together, him and Bruce, and Tim couldn’t help but feel as little strange without Dick coming with them. He wasn’t used to spending alone with Bruce without Dick nearby.  
  
The silence was… awkward.  
  
Putting on Dick’s uniform was equally strange. The padding in the gauntlets were heavier and the shoes lighter. Tim ran through a couple flips, getting used to the difference in balance. Being Dick felt… lighter.  
  
Bruce was already waiting for him at the jet.  
  
"You realize that this will be a challenge. They know Red… Remarkably well." Batman's voice rumbled from his chest like a far off explosion as Tim buckled himself in.  
  
"That's the reason for the mission, isn't it?" Tim replied as casually as possible. "To see if I can."  
  
"Hm. I'm sure you'll do well."  
  
Somehow the phrase didn’t help to make Tim feel any more confident.  
  
The trip to Happy Harbor was tense and the jet set down far earlier than Tim would have liked. He paused for a moment, took one last deep breath as Tim, before plastering on Dick's smirk and jumping from his seat, turning a few character-affirming cartwheels before reaching the door.  
  
He turned back to glance at Batman, giving him a slight nod before he ran towards the mountain and Dick’s… friends.  
  
Smiling so much was already starting to hurt his face.  
  
The team greeted him in the training room with smiles and waves. Artemis punched him (surprisingly hard) on the shoulder, and if they noticed that he was bit quieter than usual they didn't say a thing.  
  
“Hey guys!” Tim called out as if he normally initiated conversations, “You ready for an awesome weekend?”  
  
M’gann assured him that she was, indeed, ready. With a hug. Tim didn’t shudder.  
  
The difficulty wasn’t necessarily in remembering to act like Dick, or in pretending to know all of the things everyone was talking about. It was dealing with the talking and the touching that they seemed to do constantly.  
  
“Dude!” Wally shouted, throwing his arms around Tim’s shoulders and squeezing.  
  
“Hey, KF.” Tim said with a grin. The places where Wally’s body touched his (shoulder, hip, back, thigh) felt as though they were covered in ants. Or many fire.  
  
“Training with Black Canary in an hour, Robin. Kid Flash.” Aqualad brought his hand down heavily on Tim’s left arm. Tim didn’t flinch.  
  
So far so good.


	3. Chapter 3

Training never stopped.  
  
It was the very second thing that Tim learned after becoming Robin Green, right after “the Mission comes first” and right before “never go after the Joker alone”.  It was the only thing that had kept Tim going through his initial (grueling, torturous) training. The knowledge that he would always be learning, growing, becoming.   
  
Training never stopped and Tim never stopped training, it was vastly important to make every experience count.  
  
Even when said experience was capture the flag. A game so ubiquitously hated that it came out the other end as ‘classic’. It was juvenile and pointless and, Tim thought privately, far more fun when being played with a group of skilled vigilantes.   
  
“Robin, left!” Kaldur’s voice echoed from behind him.   
  
Tim went left, sliding under a padded obstacle and coming up running, narrowly avoiding an attack from one of the metal drones that made up the other “team“.   
  
“It’s on the other side of that wall.” Tim called, keeping one eye on the tracking device that showed the current resting place of their moving “flag”.  The entire team moved in tandem, those with powers flying over the wall with ease.  The hurdle was massive, Tim didn't quite know how Black Canary had managed to get it in the building, and made of smooth metal which wouldn’t hold one of Tim’s grapples easily.   
  
As he watched M’gann fly down to lift Artemis over the tall metal contraption Tim realized that the rest of the team expected him to get himself to the other side alone.  It was a reasonable assumption to make, considering Robin’s ( _both_ Robins’) tendency to do things independently.    
  
But the exercise was meant to improve teamwork, Tim reminded himself. And Superboy was only a couple feet in front of him.  
  
“Superboy!” He shouted, not stopping, getting dangerously close to running head-first into the obstacle, “Give me a lift, won’t you?”   
  
Superboy looked over at him for a single confused moment, and Tim was almost convinced that he would have to make an awkward quick-stop to prevent himself from an embarrassing collision.  But then Superboy seemed to get the request, and was grasping Tim tightly by the shoulders and lifting him as he leaped--  
  
Everything blurred for a moment, and Tim struggled to maintain his sense of direction, and then they were landing solidly on the other side of the sand-trap on the other side. Wally was already struggling to free himself from the sand, while the rest of the team appeared to be fighting off more automated enemies.    
  
The important thing was that the flag was still where it had been, and Superboy was still holding on to Tim like his life depended on it.  
  
“Nice, SB.” Tim said with his Dick-est grin, clapping Superboy on the shoulder even though it made his hand sting, “Let’s get that beacon.”   
  
A strange look of confusion crossed Superboy’s face as Tim released his hands and set off towards the glowing beacon that was their flag. But Tim didn’t have time to question whether or not he was blowing his cover.  _I’m passing just fine_ , he reminded himself, _none of these kids know Dick better than I do._  
  
All in all, laying his hands on the flag and ending the game wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Tim would have liked.  
  
“Good job, team.” Black Canary said as the equipment merged back into the complicated machinery that made up the base.  “I saw some really good work out there.”   
  
“You know it!” Wally crowed, so loudly that Tim couldn’t fight a wince, “Nice moves, Rob.”   
  
“I-- uh-- It was mostly Superboy.” Tim said.  
  
“No way, man, you rocked!”   
  
“You were pretty impressive, Robin.” M’gann said with a smile. Artemis grunted and Tim could only assume that it was meant to be a similar sort of praise.  
  
Tim smiled and didn’t insist. Even though it _had_ been mostly Superboy.   
  
“We all did well,” Kaldur said in his calmest “leader” voice, Tim wondered if he was the only one who noticed that Kaldur was mimicking Batman in these moments, “the exercise was successful because of our work as a team.”   
  
Black Canary watched them all with a smile that Tim couldn’t decode.  He resolved to spend more time watching surveillance footage of her expressions in the near future. It never hurt to be prepared.  
  
“And with that _inspiring_ praise,” Wally said with a loud and most likely faked yawn, “I’m headed for bed. Anybody else?”   
  
Eye contact. Tim felt his eyebrows twitch at the unexpected intimacy.    
  
Did Wally expect something?  Probably not, Tim thought, people made eye contact for no reason all the time.   
  
“I’m gonna to watch a little TV first.” He said since it seemed as though Wally was expecting a response. Dick watched TV, right? They didn‘t have much time for it at home, but it seemed like a common activity at the mountain, “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
“Oh. Okay, sure. G’night.”  Wally sped off with a sigh.  
  
Why did Wally seem disappointed? Tim gave himself a mental shake and moved towards the rec room, where the large television waited patiently to dispense boring drivel until he couldn’t stand it anymore.  Where the couch was comfortable and he could let his Dick-act drop a little, if only for the next few hours.  
  
He almost didn’t notice when Superboy came in and settled himself in one of the armchairs, but the creak of the seat drew his attention. Tim gave himself a mental slap for not being aware of his surroundings.  
  
He waited patiently for Superboy to say something, reminding himself of all of the ways that Dick might respond to conversation.  But he stayed quiet, his eyes focused on whatever was playing on the screen.  
  
Every now and then, Tim could feel the weight of eyes resting on him, but the silence continued and it was comfortable. He didn’t say anything.

An hour later, Tim rose silently and headed for his own room, Superboy probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken up.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

  
The next day had no mission and no training, Tim was almost convinced that Bruce was trying to cut him some slack.  Instead, the team gathered a noon for what M’gann called a “movie-lunch-hanging-out extravaganza!”.    
  
As far as Tim could tell, that meant crowding in front of the TV (again) and consuming far too much popcorn.    
  
"How's it going, Rob?"  
  
Tim resisted the urge to jump as Wally appeared right next to him with a crack. Sitting on the couch with no regard to personal space, his hip touched Tim's indecently.   
  
"Fine. I mean... Its going great, man!"  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Of course." Tim shuffled over a little on the couch but it seemed as though Wally was intent on taking up the whole space, his shoulder brushed Tim's arm. For a split second, Tim could feel Wally’s thigh touch his own.  
  
M'gann leaned over the back of the couch to comment on whatever movie was playing and as she did her hair brushed his shoulder. Did Dick usually do this much _touching_? Surely Dick didn't allow this extent of bodily contact at all times, how would he concentrate?  
  
Did Dick touch Tim this often? He couldn't remember.   
  
_Does training count? How about outside of training? First aid?_  
  
Tim resisted the urge to count every instance of physical contact he'd ever had with the other Robin.  It would be distracting.  Such a difficult thought exercise would have to wait until he was alone.   
  
"Robin," And there was Superboy, holding a large bowl of popcorn and looking like maybe he wanted to sit.  
  
Tim looked up at him, looked down at the (to his mind) already crowded couch, and reminded himself to be Dick.  
  
"Hey, Supes." Tim applauded himself for the creative nickname. Superboy gave him another one of those complex crinkled-eyebrow looks.    
  
And now Superboy was sitting on one side and Wally was on the other and Tim thought he might feel a hand on his thigh.   
  
Tim resolved to shake himself out of his discomfort.  There was no reason for him to be this freaked out by casual touch, he reminded himself. He had no sizable physical or emotional trauma.  It was obvious (judging by the behavior of everyone else on the team) that physical contact of this kind of was normal, even expected.  
  
 _Dick_ does _touch me all the time._ Tim though as his skin jumped underneath Wally’s hand. _Bruce and Alfred pat me on the shoulder and help me with bandages and stitches. And we all help with stretching and massage. This is no different.  
_  
Except that it was different.  Something about the way Bruce and Dick made contact, something about the fact they the two of them would forever be, in Tim’s mind, Batman and Robin (and so much more important than normal people), made their kind of touching far less intrusive.    
  
Wally laughed at something M’gann said, leaning back to nudge Tim in the ribs and pat him in on the knee.   
  
Something about Wally’s smile instantly reminded Tim of one of the  more pleasant moments with his mother.  Watching her from across the room as she flirted with a business associate. The same tilt to her head as she listened for the next cue to laugh.    
  
Tim felt his stomach lurch.  It was too much.  
  
“I have to-- ummm-- _Batman_. I have to check in with Batman about a-- training thing. Be right back!”   
  
He stood, ignoring the confused looks from both of his couch-companions, and shot out of the room as if he had the speed-force on his die. Not exactly the most efficient extraction, but an effective one.   
  
“ _Damn_.” Tim hissed under his breath as he jogged through the empty hall.  Thinking of his-- of Janet while trying to maintain an undercover personae would most certainly make him loose his cool.     
  
_It’s just the stress of the assignment,_ Tim thought, _I’ll just meditate a little more and all will come out right. As soon as I can get to my-- to Dick’s room._  
  
He hadn’t really gotten a chance to look at Dick’s quarters, having gone to bed late the night before and woken up early.  
  
There was little doubt in Tim’s mind that the room belonged to Dick.  It certainly wasn’t what Dick would consider messy, but it was well lived in.  Comic books and non-necessary equipment covered nearly all of the available surface space, dirty and clean clothes occupied separate piles on the floor, the bed was unmade.    
  
_Train or clean?_ Tim wasn’t so sure Dick would appreciate it if he touched Dick’s stuff, but the mess made any kind of meditative state impossible.  Tim settled for making the bed and throwing away some of the empty chip wrappers he found on the desk.  
  
Even so, the atmosphere was far too distracting for Tim to get any real work done.  At home, Dick’s room was the place where they went to relax.  No work was allowed inside those four walls of the manor.   
  
And while Dick’s room at the mountain isn’t quite the same, it still has that sense of quiet relaxation. The same warm feeling and the same smell…  
  
…Tim wasn’t going to get anything done.  And he was starting to actually miss Dick a little. Ridiculous, considering he’d only been away for a day.  
  
‘Red to Green. Come in.’    
  
Tim’s hand shot up to activate his communicator.  Dick must have sneaked himself down to the cave just to contact him.  It would have been hard to get past Alfred’s sharp eye.  Add in the fact that Dick sounded like he’d been run over by a train and--  
  
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”   
  
‘I thought the bed might be tired of me so I gave it a break.’    
  
Tim can‘t tell if the cracking is interference or Dick‘s voice, either way it sounds painful.   
  
“Sure. Whatever you say.  You should probably hurry up and get back there before Alfred finds out.”   
  
‘I just wanted to check on you, little bro. What’s it like being me? Oh wait, what am I saying? It’s totally _awesome_.’  
  
“Ha.” Tim wandered around the room, absentmindedly rifling through the things he saw as he spoke.  Energy bars and mints in one drawer of the desk, batarangs and smoke-pellets in another.  “Are you seriously calling just for the lame puns because there’s other stuff I could be doing right now.”  
  
‘Hey! You love me.’   
  
Tim rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to answer.  
  
Dick continued, ‘No really I’m just checking up. It’s a weird assignment…’   
  
“I’m doing okay.”  Bubblegum, plastique, sunglasses, grapple gun. Did Dick have any kind of system for this stuff?  
  
‘Are you sure? I mean, undercover stuff is fun but this is sort of… close to home.’  
  
“It’s _fine_ , Red. Why are you so worried about this?”   
  
Gloves, bandages, sugar pills, knock out pills, condoms…  
  
‘I dunno I just-- They’re sort of my friends. And I feel bad about lying to them like this. And--’  
  
Why did Dick have condoms in his room?   
  
‘--I was kind of hoping to introduce you to them in a different way. It’s kind of shitty that they don’t even know you exist, you know?’   
  
Tim inspected his finding carefully. It was one of those long strips often handed out in high school health centers.  But not the brand hoarded by the nurses at Gotham Academy, and not the kind that Alfred surreptitiously slipped into every bedside drawer and bathroom cupboard.  Someone else’s condoms then.   
  
‘I get worried about you, Timmy.’ Dick said over the line, ‘I mean, you don’t know anyone else in the biz, the league doesn’t know you exist. You don’t even have any normal civilian friends.’  
  
‘Don’t you get sort of… lonely?’  
  
There was an uneven number of rubbers on the strip and one side was more ragged than the other. One of them had been torn off and used. Possibly more than one.  
  
‘Green, you there?  Tim?’  
  
“I’m here.”  Someone had been having sex with Dick.  _Dick_ had been having sex with _someone_.  Someone who wasn’t Tim.    
_  
Not that I want to be the one sleeping with him anyway,_ Tim reminded himself.    
  
‘Are you okay?’  
  
“I’m fine.” _You’re sleeping with someone and you didn’t tell me. I thought you would tell me if you were-- if you had--  Why wouldn’t you_ tell _me?_  
  
‘You sure, little bro?  If it’s stressing you out you can ask Batman to take you off the mission.’  
  
“Yes I'm sure! It’s really not that hard.” Tim shoved the condoms back where he found them, pointedly not slamming the desk drawer, “Maybe they don’t know you as well as you thought they did.”  
  
‘Um. Sure…’  
  
“We can talk later. Green out.” Tim switched his comm to the emergency only channel and let the silence sink in for a moment while he thought.   
  
Tim had always known that Dick would have more friends than him. Would have more connections and more opportunities to branch out. To change.  Dick had been associating with the league for years before Tim even met him. Had bonded with Kid Flash and Speedy before the idea of the younger team had even come up.    
  
Just because Dick was one third of Tim’s world didn’t necessarily mean that Tim was the same to Dick.  He knew this.  He’s prepared himself for the inevitability that Dick would bond with other people in ways that Tim wasn’t capable of.    
  
_I just thought that when he did I would know._ Tim thought, _I thought I would be ready to--  to let him go._  
  
Let him go from what? It wasn’t as though Tim expected anything remotely like romance from Dick.  He would much rather be brothers than boyfriends.  He had given up the idea of that around the same time that he had become Robin.    
  
But he had expected to have a few more years to get used to the idea of sharing Dick with someone who hadn’t given up on that idea.  And the knowledge that Dick hadn’t even brought it up…  
  
 _Dick can do whatever he wants._ Tim reminded himself, _With_ whomever _he wants. It’s none of my business._  
  
Although, Tim thought, it would be nice to know exactly _whom_ Dick was doing his “whatever” _with_.

 


End file.
